Nobody's Listening
by The Shiny One
Summary: MelloxMatt drabbles. SPOILERS up to ch99, limey content. And of course, slash, but that should be apparent from the pairing.
1. Tears

**A/N:** I am so, so sorry for inflicting my horrible writing on you. But I can blame it on 'Lora! (Go read her drabbles, by the way, if you haven't already.) Erm. That's all. Well, also, most of these drabbles are limey, and lemony, and probably out of character. I'm sorry!

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**Tears**

It was a given rule, really. Mihael Keehl never cried. Not when he stubbed his toe on a bothersome rock; not when his half of his once-flawless face was scarred. Atleast that's what the world thought.

There were days when it all broke loose and Matt didn't know what to do as Mello sobbed into his loose shirt. He'd awkwardly place a hand on the boy's golden hair, and run long fingers through it, murmuring sweet nothings that Mello would never listen to otherwise.

And then the boy would calm. His shudders would calm to small shivers, and his tears ran dry (Matt's shirt was soaked enough already, anyway). There would be a small silence, and Mello would lift his head up again, eyes red-rimmed but finally calm, and his fingers would find their way to Matt's hair, where they'd tangle themselves with the dark strands.

Before long, Mello would be lying on top of him (and what a comforting weight it was, Matt thought), ever-dominant, and Matt would close his eyes and relish the experience. But it'd be over come morning, and Mello would never speak of it again, arrogance and strength returned until the flood broke loose again.


	2. Silenced

**Silenced**

If there was one thing Mello hated, it was silence. Silence unnerved him, and because Near was nearly always silent, Near, too, unnerved him. Yet at the same time, Mello respected silence. 'Silence is golden,' went the saying, and Mello always remembered it.

There were few with the gift of "enough" silence. Not so much that they became creepy and disturbing (like Near, Mello grumbled to himself), but a decent amount, to where they didn't babble endlessly. Matt was very gifted, by all standards.

In Mello's mind, Near had become #2: there was no way the the white-haired boy had what Mello did. Mello had the boy's beautiful eyes, hidden by strange orange goggles. He had the smirking mouth that tasted like oranges (and smoke) and felt like silk; he had the boy's long, smooth fingers. At night, Mello had the boy's smooth touches and the feel of soft skin rubbing against fresh pink scars as the boy made delicious and dangerous sounds. In the morning, Mello could glance at the boy and know that he was his, and always would be.

And of course, Mello had the boy's silence of "enough." The short conversations, the muffled noises, and the quiet when Mello was tired. The boy never had to be silenced.


	3. This Isn't Who I Am

**This Isn't Who I Am**

He sat on the car, watching his body be taken away. It was depressing, really. But he had died and there was nothing he could do about it, being dead and all. Life had gone by too fast, but on the other hand, death wasn't all that bad: in this state, Matt decided, he could watch Mello succeed.

He could be by his side. A silent and unseen comfort; a lover from the sidelines. Smilingly ever so slightly, the boy jumped down from the car roof, and yawning, took a final look at the bloody mess of holes in his old self's flesh.

This was no longer his, nor was it even "him." A new life stretched out in front of him, full of Mello and chocolate.


	4. Fragrance

**Fragrance**

With Mello, the smell of chocolate is inescapable. It's something as permanent as the scar that marrs his pale skin, and it's just as appealing to the boy who sits near him, wrapping lanky arms around the slim figure: sniffing the crook of his neck, delighted to find that it still smells distinctly like Mello. Matt is all the more thankful for the unique scent since the day Mello came to ask his help, smelling like smoke and blood and fire.

But Mello is not something you can sit and sniff at all day; Mello is someone who moves and screams, someone who can't stand or sit still too long, someone with independence but desperate need. Mello doesn't let Matt investigate too far, always stopping him with fiery bites on his neck and restless hands crawling over his jeans. He doesn't mind for the moment, of course, sinking down into the haven of chocolate that is Mello, but he later regrets it. The mystery of Mello, he thinks, is something he wants to solve. He would be the first.

Matt is patient, and waits like a cat, swishing his tail as he watches and examines. He has waited for years, and waiting a few more days won't kill him. The day comes, suddenly, and Matt doesn't falter when Mello doesn't pull away. His face nuzzles the soft skin of Mello's stomach, and he inhales, memorizing every fragrance and curve. The honey-haired boy clings to Matt as though the world is ending, for for a moment, Matt thinks it is.

He moves down, and although Mello squirms, he doesn't stop the curious nose and lips. Pale hands tighten their grip on Matt's chocolate hair; ragged but beautiful noises escape usually-smirking lips; hips twist in inexplicable emotion.

Hours later, Matt is finally satisfied, one pale arm hooked over a tan waist. Golden hair brushes his nose, smelling of all that is Mello: something that Matt no longer wonders about.


	5. Possessive

**Possessive**

"Nn..."

Locks of sun-coloured hair brushed against Matt's chest, tickling and teasing. Hot breaths on his neck, followed by a gentle nip; hands pushing and pulling the shirt off him in moments of barely-there conciousness.

"Did you hear me?" Mello's voice: harsh, demanding, desperate. He waits for an answer, (an acceptance of Mello's dominance) but Matt's mind seems fuzzy and confusing when Mello is like this (so addictive, so pleasing). Yet he tries to respond, nodding his head as his arms reach to pull Mello back down, back on top of him, a warm weight.

The movement isn't enough, and Mello tilts his head down, briefly brushing Matt's lips with his own, only to bite down. A shudder races through Matt's body, and he lets a small gasp of breath escape.

"Tell me."

Matt opens his eyes, slowly, regarding Mello's face. Hands trail through his long hair, and Mello tries to look impatient (the quiet purring betrays him), and Matt smiles a smile no longer broken by the presence of a cigarette.

"I'm yours, Mello."


	6. Unanswered Questions

**Unanswered Questions**

The warmth of tangled sheets and tangled legs and tangled arms; the beauty of Mello's little sighs as he naps and the soft sound of fingers sliding over scars and the feel of chocolate on his lips and neck. It's comfortable and something that is singularly theirs: M&M, as he once engraved onto a wooden bed post back at Wammy's. Something familiar, and delicate.

With the honey-haired boy, you can't be too careful, only not careful enough. It's like a summer storm, spontaneously exploding and lashing out, burning and destroying, dangerous and volatile. Asking questions can be more dangerous than Russian roulette, but the rewards are huge if you manage to not suffer. But he knows better than to ask questions: Mello just won't answer, sparing the boy of injury and humiliation. And Matt knows that the only way to really avoid suffering from unanswered questions is to have unasked questions.

He makes up the answers in his head, and some part of him tells him he's right. He might be wrong, like when he thinks that Mello was born in a fire, but childish beliefs keep him tied to the lies. Sometimes, he thinks he's right: Mello really does love Near. But these could be wrong, too, and it hurts him less to think of them as mere guesses. Near isn't near, anyway: Near doesn't lie with Mello when the day turns dark, and Near doesn't trace Mello's scars when he sleeps. Near can't run his hands down Mello's smooth back, and Near can't taste the chocolate on Mello's lips.

Sometimes, Matt thinks he might be the luckiest man on the planet. But that, he decides, is because his life revolves around a living unanswered question.


	7. Nothing Left

**Nothing Left**

Like an empty glass, Mello was only an empty void, laced with danger and passion, desperately trying to achieve something that would fill him in even the slightest way. It was something he could barely admit to himself: only fools lived for others, after all. (But he hadn't specifically lived for someone, Mello argued with himself -- it was all an accident. It wasn't planned.) But what was planned? The scar certainly wasn't. It became the stinging proof of Mello's second-rate status.

If Mello had been first -- like Near, who he hated more and more with every passing second -- this wouldn't have happened. They'd be together, plotting against both Kira and Near; they'd be sharing meaningful stares and sly smirks that promised of things to come.

But there was nothing left. He'd catch Kira -- he swore, to the high heavens and depths of hell, that he'd never let Near win -- and for the first time in his life, he'd be first: But what then? Where would he go? What would he do? There was nobody waiting for him, and he would aimlessly wander the streets, gnawing on chocolate and seeing nothing but smoking ghosts, casually leaning against brick walls as they watched Mello through goggled eyes.


	8. Shattered Glass

**Shattered Glass**

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crushing the glass beneath his heavy leather boots, he eyes the car -- a mess of holes and glass and blood. Silence fills the air as he regards the mess, propping up his sunglasses to rest on his forehead. He takes a step forward, and stops.

The body isn't there. He stares at the empty seat, eyes blank and expressionless. Moments later, he is sitting down on the benumbed and torn fabric, touching the steering wheel with gloved fingers. He sits there for a long time, as if waiting for the sun to fall from the heavens. Waiting for something that will never come.

Something catches his eyes -- something sharp and polished. He picks it up, studying the large shard of glass as he holds it at various angles. Glancing back down to the car floor, where lie thousands -- perhaps even millions -- of tiny, miniscule pieces, all from same substance.

He contemplates the shattered glass in devout silence, frigid air biting his scarred skin.


	9. Hero

**Hero**

There are heroes of every caliber and motivation. Heroes of the devil, and heroes of the gods. And then there's Mello: once a hero, now a villain. Mello doesn't realize it, too busy chasing Near and Kira to bother, but Matt observes for him. Matt would follow him to the end -- however bitter that end may be -- and never regret it, because while Mello might not be a good example of all that is Good (on the contrary, Mello encompasses all that is Bad), Mello is far too interesting and far too addictive for Matt to ever let go.

It's not that Matt minds. Matt enjoys Mello's mood swings, and Mello's abrupt changes in plan. Even in his darkest hour, Mello is appealing (like fire -- so very dangerous, but so very intoxicating). Matt lives for Mello and those smirks late at night (when all is dark and Mello's fingers thread themselves in Matt's hair, tugging and twisting), because being with Mello is better than being with any ordinary hero.


	10. Stain

**Stain**

They meet almost instaneously: a somber reunion in the dawn of a new darkness. No need for discussion, the two figures stand in a calm disturbed only by the ever-distant hum of traffic, and an occasional scurry of rats.

There is a newfound patience in the other boy, Matt casually observes, letting a puff of smoke escape his lips. No longer is Mello charged with electricity, crackling and snapping at random. He's just _there_. Sneaking a glance at the boy, Matt wonders if his soul has finally been defeated -- left broken and strewn about, like glass from the windshield.

That's right, Matt thinks -- he's dead. A glance down confirms the realization, although he is slightly disturbed by the lack of pain. So much blood, so many holes. It's surprising that his body -- however ghostly -- is still in one piece. Well. Not that it matters now. What's there do when you're dead, anyway?

Mello shifts, suddenly, and turns to stroll down the alleyway. Stunned, Matt stumbles after him, tossing the cigarette away.

"Where are you going?"

The saffron-haired boy stops and glances back. "Store. Your shirt has a huge stain on it. How are we going to find L with you looking like that?"

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**A/N**: By the way, once again (I sent everybody individual replies to the reviews – I hope you got them o.o), thanks for the reviews ! 

I'm doing these for a 100-themes challenge, so the titles of the drabbles weren't chosen by me – that's why sometimes, they barely connect.

Thankye, again!


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